This dog means something to Meg. Recognition almost knocked him out of his seat. This bedraggled white dog was the same grubby puppy they had saved moments before an out-of-control wagon and its horses would have ended its life, only weeks before Meg had disappeared from his. His heart sped with excitement that she had kept it all this time. “I know you!” He looked down at the dog. “It is coming back to me now.” Excited, he leaned into Meg. “I recognize Shep. You kept the dog!” he whispered, realizing she would not hear him but needing to speak. Overwhelmed, he pulled her tight to his chest and breathed in her essence. Lilacs. His favorite. He loved that she always smelled of lilacs. Once upon a time, she told him it was her preferred flower.
The dog waited. Its demeanor communicated the anticipation of accommodation. “I will not leave you. Give me a moment to think.” He was speaking almost to himself. It was a difficult position. Thinking rapidly, he reached behind him for his saddlebag and emptied its contents. Nothing of importance was in there. Once satisfied with the space, he carefully slid off his horse, keeping one hand holding onto Meg. She did not move. Hurriedly, he gathered the small dog into the satchel. Shep gave no resistance. Max hoisted the bags over his shoulder to allow the small dog to ride, and once again mounted Willow.
“Shep,” she murmured, barely conscious. Her voice was weak. “Shep, where are you?” She tried to open her eyes, but they fluttered closed again.
A lighter bark registered under his arm. He could not believe his ears. The dog had answered her. It understood her.
Willow turned into Max’s estate and stopped at the front. It had been six months since his last visit home. Still securing Meg with one hand, he slid from his horse, and lowered his saddlebag, allowing the dog to leave it. Then he turned back and gently helped Meg down.
“Follow me.” He nodded at the dog, confident the pooch understood him. Holding Meg in his arms, he and the bedraggled pup made it up the steps to the portico and pushed open the door.
The slow but pronounced footfalls of his butler sounded a welcome.
“Your lordship, you have returned. We had not expected you this evening.” The tall, greying man drew closer and peered down at the drenched woman in his arms. “I apologize for ogling, my lord, but that is Miss Maggie…pardon, Lady Maggie…” He looked up at Max. “Lady Tipton.” Max noted the shock and concern in the old man’s eyes. “She appears injured. What happened, my lord?” Before Max could answer, the older man noticed the small dog standing at Max’s feet and scowled. “Shoo! Out the door with you.”
Shep sprung into the air, jumping vertically toward his mistress and barking his high-pitched bark. The energy the dog still had despite the frigid conditions he had endured astonished Max. “It’s okay, Cabot. Lady...” He paused, grappling for words. “Lady Tipton needs the dog as much as he needs her. He stays.”
“As you wish, my lord. I will send for the doctor.” His displeasure clear, Cabot left the room, but not before giving a quick glare toward the dog.
“Thank you, Cabot," he responded under his breath to the man’s back. Louder, he added, “Send for Mrs. Andrews and have her meet me upstairs. I shall put Lady…Tipton in Lady Angela’s room.” Uttering her married name renewed the ache in his chest. He needed to get her help and then distance himself. Angela, his sister, would not mind Meg using her room while she visited her best friend in London. Angela would be gone for at least two more weeks.
It would not be easy to forget Meg’s marriage status with three years past, but he had to for his sanity. And he needed to stop calling her Meg. That had been his nickname for her. She was Lady Maggie Tipton now. Even as he told himself this, he knew it would be impossible—she would always be Meg to him.
Meg’s body quaked, probably from the chill. Responding on impulse, Max pulled her closer, hoping to share his body warmth in the only way he knew. She was lighter than he recalled. Her lilac scent rushed his senses and reminded him sharply of his loss. Weirdly, he recalled a time or two he had carried her. Rapt in the past, he missed a step, barely catching himself before he lost his balance.
“Woof!” The dog ran past him up the stairs and stopped at the top. He watched Max the rest of the way up, his expression one of mistrust.
“I promise not to hurt her.” No, I will be the one in pain here, Max reflected. “It is just ahead, Shep.” Good God! He was talking to a dog. Shaking off the realization, he nodded toward the hall. Shep started in behind him, following him into the room. Once inside, Max laid Meg on the pink velvet-covered bed.
Shep jumped up and sniffed at her face, assuring himself she was still alive. Once satisfied, he inspected each of the four large posters before curling up next to her side. Not close enough, his little body edged toward her until it touched her.
“Shep, you have come back,” she uttered, weakly placing her hand on his folded front paws with a loud sigh.
Was that relief? His gaze shifted to the burns on her wrists, and he knew he could not dismiss her again from his life so quickly. I need to know what happened to her. The burns on Meg’s wrists bothered him as much as her tortured state of mind. Was she running from someone…or maybe to something? Whatever it was, the dog had a part in it. He had found her in front of her family’s estate. Wyndham was almost a mile from his own property.
He had planned to
